God machines, p.88
God-Machines, page 88
The Knights gained a broad processional, passing between outer worker habs when the imposing thunder of engines filled the air. Danial cast a glance at the chrono count. Three minutes to go. Overhead, sweeping in above the mountains below the high-altitude void shields, came a great swarm of dark specks. The shapes flowed closer by the moment. The cruciform shapes of wing after wing of Imperial Navy aircraft were framed against the sky, lightning crackling around the bulky silhouettes of bombers and fast-moving attack fighters.
‘There must be hundreds of them,’ he breathed, feeling the throb of the planes’ engines in his chest. Desultory flak spat up at the onrushing aerial armada, fired by servitor-turrets beyond the Knights’ corridor of advance. It was like hurling stones at a bull grox. A few planes bucked with impacts, or burst into flames and fell from the sky. In return, the ground attack craft dived down and obliterated the offending turrets. Blossoms of fire rose from distant streets.
‘Almost there,’ voxed Jennika. ‘We’re approaching the mouth of the valley. If your steeds have any more speed to give, now is the time!’
‘You heard her,’ muttered Danial to his Knight. Oath’s heat readings were spiking, its actuator damage runes darkening towards red. Knights were heavy combat engines, not intended to run so far at such speed, but by the grace of the Emperor not one of their steeds had blown a motive impeller or suffered a topple. The dark mouth of the nortus maximal loomed ahead, the immensity of the mountains rearing to either side. The valley’s dark confines promised safety, so tantalisingly close now. Overhead the armada thundered on, wing after wing of planes sweeping over the valle electrum towards the plasma generatorums at its heart.
‘The first aircraft waves are dropping their payload… now,’ voxed Polluxis, and Danial marvelled that, despite everything, the High Sacristan still sounded calm. ‘Likely chain detonation within two minutes.’
‘Come on, come on,’ Garath urged, as behind them the horizon lit with flashing explosions. Mega-tonnes of explosive ordnance fell upon generatorums one, two and three. Rockets hissed down from wing mounts to rip through the buildings’ superstructures and detonate deep within. Lascannon volleys stabbed through armour plating and ripped into tangles of pipes. Huge, bunker-busting bombs smashed through floor after floor to detonate deep within the plasma generators’ volatile hearts.
Danial’s warriors and the Crawlers passed into the shadow of the valley, and a moment later he and Luk plunged in behind them.
‘Keep going!’ shouted Danial. ‘Get as far through as you can!’
As his steed charged through the remains of the pass’ inner defences, a titanic flash lit the horizon. The thunderous roar of the explosion came a second later, its shockwave a phenomenal hammer blow that struck Oath in the back and almost hurled the Knight onto its face.
‘Go! Go!’ he urged, muting his aural pickups as the bellow of the detonation filled the valley. The mountainsides shook, scree and rocks tumbling. The floor shook beneath his feet, bedrock cracking with the ferocity of the blast. Everything behind his steed was white fire, rushing up to enfold Danial in its lethal embrace. He had a fleeting impression of black specks climbing frantically away from the explosion, and wished the air crews the Emperor’s own luck evading the blast.
Then he was rounding the sharp bend in the pass, putting thousands of tons of solid rock between himself and fiery annihilation.
‘Shields rear!’ shouted Jennika. ‘Shields rear! Protect the Crawlers!’
Danial wrenched his ion shield around as fiery light filled the valley. Funnelled between the mountainsides, the plasmic fires rushed up like dracon’s breath, striking with monumental force. Oath of Flame shook madly around him, stumbling as it was pummelled by shockwaves. Danial’s sensorium filled with blinding light, and the last thing he saw was the closest Crawler being lifted slowly off the ground and tipping ponderously onto its side. Then his hull receptors burned out in the fires of destruction, and Danial saw nothing more.
Sheik Halna’sir peered through his magnoculars, trying to pierce the clouds of smoke boiling from the nortus maximal. Imperial banners flapped and snapped in the furnace wind, and many of his men had hunkered down behind the blasted ramparts for cover.
Beside him, Commander Korgh shielded his eyes, leaning on a metal crutch as he stared in awe at the mushroom cloud rising above the mountains.
‘Any sign of them, sir?’ asked the commander.
Halna’sir shook his head in response.
‘I see nothing moving, save the smoke,’ he said, frowning.
‘A tragic loss, then,’ sighed Korgh.
‘Wait,’ breathed Halna’sir, adjusting the magnification and squinting hard.
‘What?’ asked Korgh. ‘What do you see?’
A fierce grin spread across the sheik’s features as huge figures strode from the murk, their lumens lit.
‘I see gods…’ he replied.
EPILOGUE
With the destruction of the valle electrum, and the deaths of all the primary traitor leaders, the war for Donatos was effectively won. Although a number of petty rebel warlords arose to fill the power vacuum, and although a small number of Word Bearers and renegade Knights remained at large upon Donatos Primus, the loss of the Adamant Citadels crippled the traitor war effort. Able once more to coordinate and link their forces, our armies renewed their assault upon their heretic foes and drove them back on every front.
Special commendation must be given to Mubraxian Sheik Halna’sir, who, at the head of a coalition of Astra Militarum and Donatosian militia forces, successfully defeated the last rebel Knights at the battle of Sevenspires. An additional note is made of former Militia Commander Korgh who, in the eyes of the Commissariat and Segmentum Command, earned redemption through exceptional heroism in combat on no less than five separate occasions. Though heavily wounded during the battle of Sevenspires, Korgh was awarded his full pardon. As soon as the commander’s augmetics had taken, he was afforded the honour of leading a retaliatory expedition into the Crimson Stars at the head of a substantial Imperial force, in pursuit of the remaining Word Bearers that escaped the Donatos warzone.
The Emperor offers his thanks to the loyal Knights of Adrastapol for their commendable heroism in defeating the heretic scourge upon Donatos. It is with regret, therefore, that I must conclude this report by providing an advisory that a representative of the Emperor’s holy Inquisition is now on route to Adrastapol. Though your astropaths have informed us that all holdings and chattel of Houses Chimaeros – reductum hereticum extremis – and House Wyvorn – reductum hereticum extremis – have been liquidated, still an investigation is unavoidable at this time. All possibility of further corruption must be eliminated, to the satisfaction of the Holy Ordos. I would ask that you provide Inquisitor Massata with your full cooperation, and that of your Noble Houses, and I assure you that your exemplary conduct and selfless sacrifices during the conclusion of the Donatosian war will be taken into consideration at this time.
The Emperor protects,
– Lord Governor Hullis, formerly First Administrator,
Medallion Mendaxis 3rd Class, Defender of the Populi Factotum
‘The list of titles goes on, my liege,’ said Sire Markos, coughing to clear his augmetic vocal emitter as he read from the report. ‘And there’s… let’s see… yes, a thought for the day. Would you like to hear that?’
Danial Tan Draconis sighed wearily.
‘I think not, my herald. I believe we have heard all from Governor Hullis that we could possibly wish to.’
A ripple of laughter ran through the courtiers that clustered around the colonnaded edges of the throne room. Some of the chuckles were genuine, some sycophantic or forced. Such was the way of court, thought Danial ruefully. Give him Oath of Flame and a battlefield any day over such stultified nonsense.
‘An inquisitor is on his way,’ said Sire Percivane from his place to the right of Danial’s towering, draconine throne. ‘That does not bode well, my liege. The Holy Ordos are not known for their forbearance, or their understanding.’
‘We have nothing to hide,’ replied Lady Jennika from her place at Danial’s left. The Lady Tan Draconis wore the gilt-edged cloak of First Knight, a promotion that Danial had been only too glad to award his sister. Some had whispered of favouritism, but again, such was the nature of courtly politics. Danial knew no fiercer or truer warrior than Jennika. He was glad to have her as the nominal commander of his Exalted Court.
‘That’s true,’ said Lady Suset, who stood one step down from the throne, in the most junior position of the Exalted Court. She had been made Gatekeeper at Danial’s insistence, and despite High Sacristan Polluxis’ obvious displeasure. In the six months that had passed since they had returned from Donatos, the High King had found that he very much enjoyed Suset’s forthright company. Far more so than any of the elaborately outfitted consorts and courtly ladies who flocked in his wake, and whispered knowingly together whenever he passed. If he could survive their predatory attentions, thought Danial, he could hopefully handle an inquisitor. But there were those who might not fare so well, which brought him to his final order of business. Seven hours at court, plus two more of ritual observances before his hearings even began for the day. The grasslands were calling, a ghurgol hunt across the open plains in his mighty steed.
But first, this sad matter must be seen to.
‘Markos, call forth the Knight of Ashes,’ he commanded.
The herald turned and adjusted a dial in his vox-emitter to amplify his grating voice.
‘Danial Tan Draconis, High King of Adrastapol and Victor of Donatos, calls Luk Kar Chimaeros, the Knight of Ashes, to attend upon him at this hour.’
Markos’ voice echoed up to the vaulted ceiling, with its magnificent murals of fire-breathing dracons and Imperial angels battling the forces of darkness. Across the vast throne room, over the heads of assembled Knights of Houses Draconis, Minotos and Pegasson, past throngs of courtiers, functionaries, courtesans, petitioners, priests and servitors, the huge bronze doors swung open. Danial tapped discreet controls set into a bracelet on his wrist, summoning his three servo skulls to hover above him. The dracon, the minot and the pegassus, each inscribed with the image of the same crown that he wore upon his brow. Between them, the servo-skulls projected a flickering hololith that magnified his view, and showed Danial his oldest friend striding through the opening doors.
Luk Kar Chimaeros walked with his head held high, ignoring the mutters that rolled through the crowd. His long, black hair was tied back in a simple ponytail, and his tabard bore his newly chosen Freeblade heraldry. A chimaer, fallen upon its back with a blade driven through its heart, set upon a field of ashen grey.
The crowd might have shouted abuse, thought Danial, had he not been there in person. But his friendship with Luk was well known, a fact that had done neither of them any favours in the wake of House Chimaeros’ rebellion. He would no sooner distance himself from his friend than from his own sister, so let them mutter.
Luk completed the long walk to the throne, dropping to one knee before Danial and bowing his head.
‘My liege,’ he said, voice solemn.
‘Rise, Knight of Ashes,’ replied Danial, equally sombre. ‘I believe it was you who reminded me that, as a Freeblade, you have no need to call me king.’
‘I will always call you my king,’ replied Luk sincerely, standing and placing one hand on the hilt of the draconblade he wore there. A symbolic gift from his friend.
‘I am glad,’ replied Danial. ‘You still mean to go through with your vow then, sire?’
‘I do, my liege,’ said Luk. ‘You have heard the whispers just as I have. Reports that cannot be ignored. We both know that she might have survived. I cannot take that chance, and I will never recover my honour while the witch still lives.’
‘If she still lives at all,’ said Danial. ‘If you make this vow then it may take you from this world forever, on a quest without an end.’
‘If that is the Emperor’s will, so be it,’ said Luk Kar Chimaeros. ‘I vow to you on my honour as a Knight, I shall not rest until I have slain Alicia Kar Manticos with my own blade, or else proved beyond all shadow of doubt that she is dead, and her heresy punished justly.’
‘And I accept your oath,’ replied Danial, standing and drawing his draconblade. Stepping down to stand level with Luk, he rapped the flat of the weapon firmly upon his friend’s left shoulder. ‘By this blade, I bind you to your oath. Return in victory, and upon your other shoulder shall I knight you anew. So do I vow, as High King of Adrastapol, and in the sight of the Emperor.’
A few hours later, Danial and Jennika sat enthroned within their steeds, waiting upon the edge of the grass ocean that spread away from the Draconspire’s feet. They were blessedly alone, freed from the demands of court with only the wind and the sighing of the grass for company.
‘We lost so much to that world,’ said Jennika. ‘We did our duty to the Emperor despite everything, and now they send an inquisitor. As though we had dark secrets to hide.’
‘I wonder,’ said Danial. ‘Markos has been reluctant to divulge father’s history since we returned, and out of respect for his loss and his injuries I let him keep his peace. But with this Massata on his way, I fear we must press for answers. Perhaps we hide more than we know, sister.’
Jennika sighed.
‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘It’s hard to know how far the corruption of House Chimaeros – of Alicia – spread. Father always said that the business of peace was more exhausting than any battle. At least we have the hunt to soothe our minds for a time.’
‘We do,’ agreed Danial.
‘But where is Luk?’ asked Jennika. ‘He said he would join us for one last ride before he departed, did he not?’
Danial blinked a rune onto her retinal display, drawing her attention upwards. High above them a lander was climbing away from the Draconspire’s eyries, its contrail a dark streak against the cold blue of the sky.
‘I don’t think Luk will be joining us, sister,’ said Danial. ‘His hunt has already begun.’
BECOMING
ANDY CLARK
The Squires’ Square rang with the clash of blades. A courtyard edged by a colonnaded walkway, the square nestled at the heart of the Draconspire. On a clear day like this one, the broad space was typically thronged with squires, aspirants practising the skills they would need to become Knights. It was empty now, as tradition dictated for the day before a Becoming, save for the two young warriors who duelled at its centre. One was tall and strongly built, and wore a confident smile. The other was shorter, slight even with the bulk of his half-armoured bodyglove. His eyes were a deep, jade green and his face was set in a frown of concentration. Both of the duellists had their hair shaved short in the style of squires. Both were in their eighteenth year, and sweating from long hours of swordplay.
The practice blades met again, a thrust parried then answered with a swift lateral cut that was deflected in turn. Though blunt, the blades would still leave a welt that neither combatant was keen to receive.
‘Do you concede, Danial Tan Draconis?’ asked the taller of the two, mockingly formal. ‘My swordplay is clearly superior.’
‘I think not, Luk Tan Chimaeros,’ said Danial, equally mannered. ‘Though if you’re tired, I’m ready to accept your surrender now.’
Luk shook his head. He rolled his shoulders and spat on the flagstones, before launching a sudden attack. Danial parried Luk’s blow, replying with a series of cuts and thrusts straight out of Malleon’s Treatise on Swordplay. Danial’s form and footwork were perfect despite his fatigue, and his opponent was driven across the square. Just as he was about to back into an obsidian column, Luk spun aside. Danial’s blade struck stone with a dull clang. As his opponent reeled, Luk sprang onto the attack.
‘You fight like a textbook, Da,’ panted Luk as their blades clashed and rang. ‘I can predict you. You should learn to think more flexibly. Use your opponent’s strengths against them, as House Chimaeros teaches.’
‘House Draconis has won a great many wars without need of such trickery,’ said Danial. ‘We rely upon skill, courage and determination, as any noble Knight should. And when the moment is right,’ Danial punctuated his sentence with a sudden flurry of blows that almost knocked Luk’s blade from his hands, ‘we let the draconsfire burn!’
Luk backed away with his guard up.
‘House Draconis has won a great many wars because you have Sire Markos fighting in your ranks,’ he said. ‘That old ogre could probably kill a man with his scowl alone.’
‘He is one of the greatest Knights on Adrastapol, that’s true,’ said Danial. ‘Did you know that on Terrathos he walked clean through a firestorm? He was so keen to slay the foe that he refused to wait for the flames to die out.’
‘I heard that he killed a dozen xenos war engines during the war on Dortun’s Landing,’ said Luk. ‘He fought unsupported, and slew them all at close quarters with his thunderstrike gauntlet.’
‘Sire Daeved told me it was Markos who beheaded the Separatist Tyrant of Farhaj,’ said Danial. ‘Even after father ordered him to show mercy. Apparently, Markos said that the man was beyond even the Emperor’s forgiveness.’
‘He’s such a tough old dog,’ said Luk. ‘Markos probably just enjoys killing heretics too much to hold back.’
